


king of mine

by irog



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Knight Oikawa, Light Angst, M/M, a twist on the classic iwaoi royalty au, king Iwaizumi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26713549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irog/pseuds/irog
Summary: He has his sword drawn and at the ready; has Iwaizumi pressed to his chest. The king’s sword is also unsheathed, much to Oikawa’s dismay—proof that only moments ago, he had jumped in front of an arrow for him.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 34
Kudos: 161





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> we’re all big fans of the iwaoi royalty trope. and oikawa, as the ‘grand king’ in haikyuu, is always portrayed as such.
> 
> with all the iwaoi stuff going on on my twitter tl, and all the poetic analyses of their relationship, i thought, what if this time, hajime was the king? surely oikawa would serve him well.
> 
> [edited for formality. i wrote this and chapter 2 in under 10 hours of the same day; the reason for _why_ is in the end notes for that. i hope you enjoy, i’m quite proud of this~]
> 
> ✧ an amazing artist friend on twitter, [JC](https://twitter.com/soulfulweaver), made [art of king!iwa and knight!kawa!!!!](https://twitter.com/soulfulweaver/status/1310802559464996864?s=19)

♞

There is something about Oikawa, when they go into the village, that makes it seem like he is coming home. He came to live in the castle at a young age and made a home of his chambers there, and of the castle grounds and kitchens, and of the gardens out back with the maids.

But this is his origin, where the midday sun does not look at all like it intends to be harsh upon him.

Not many people recognize Oikawa. He was a nameless boy as he grew up, and is practically nameless still—or would be, had people not repeatedly mistaken him for royalty.

“They almost bow to me,” he whispers to Iwaizumi, voice laced with apprehension.

“Why would they not? You are immaculate in commoners’ robes.”

“I belong in these robes, my king.” Iwaizumi thinks it better not to protest.

 _You belong anywhere,_ he could say. _In every nook and cranny of this kingdom._ But Oikawa, armor or not, is Oikawa; he would belong where he wanted, and if it is both here and at Iwaizumi’s side, then there is no protesting that.

The brunet says, “You’ve yet to tell me the nature of this trip,” glancing at him sideways. “Is this for leisure?” _Or is it for me?_ “The palace gardens would have done, or the forest.”

“The forest,” Iwaizumi muses, watching Oikawa’s profile, “Is devoid of people.” _You are enough, but,_ “I like seeing the people.”

“As do I.”

A child bumps into Oikawa’s knee, followed by a young woman who strings her apologies together as if sewing. She crouches to meet her child, who looks up at Oikawa with wonder, and follows his gaze. It then drops to his royal seal, visible where part of his cloak had fallen away.

Her cheeks redden and her eyes go wide when she squeaks, “Your Highness!” Her honey-blonde hair falls over her face as she bows.

The smile Oikawa gives her is tight-lipped. He is not the king. “It’s alright,” he says gently, turning to the boy and kneeling to ruffle his hair. “This one is a good runner. He must take care of those sturdy legs.”

When they go, Oikawa turns to Iwaizumi, sheepish.

“That was a good impersonation,” Iwaizumi says, eyes crinkled in a laugh. _“My king.”_

“Don’t,” Oikawa starts, half-smiling. “There is only one.”

They make their way to the fountain at the center of the village courtyard, housing hundreds of rusted pennies and coins.

“If you dropped silver in it, would a wish be more likely to come true?” Iwaizumi wonders.

Oikawa watches the water glisten, scrunching his nose as he turns to his king. “Who says we wish? The people have long known wishing is futile. This—” he moves to the other side, “—is lore, now. We do it for fun.”

In the distance, a carriage’s wheels clatter along cobblestone streets, and Iwaizumi makes a mental note to have it evened out. He looks to everything else that might need repairs. The streetlamps are mostly with shattered glass, and the bridge they had crossed was in need of a fresh coat of paint. In the market, he had wondered if the vendors were content with selling on carts, or if they wanted stalls of their own.

He looks to his knight, who is watching him already.

“You’re thinking,” Oikawa tells him. “Did you want to come to see how the village is faring?”

Iwaizumi smiles. “Am I so obvious?”

From where he is seated at the fountain’s edge, Oikawa rises. “No. But there is no point in wanting to see the people when it’s nearly noon, and there are hardly any people.” He looks around. “We should be heading back s—”

* * *

“We are heading back _now_ ,” Oikawa growls.

He has his sword drawn and at the ready; has Iwaizumi pressed to his chest. The king’s sword is also unsheathed, much to Oikawa’s dismay—proof that only moments ago, he had jumped in front of an arrow for him.

It had been a blur. It had been Iwaizumi screaming _Oikawa!_ in a pitch Oikawa had never heard from him before; the snapping of wood in half and the weight of a metal bolt echoing as it fell to their feet.

It had been Oikawa, livid, moving to protect his king because that arrow was surely meant to be his.

 _“Run,”_ he says with a venom not for Iwaizumi, and he grabs his hand, and _runs._

* * *

Oikawa does not make the mistake of forgetting the horses. But he takes his, frees it, and sends it galloping back to the castle on its own while he mounts the king’s horse and rides with him. He does not sheathe his sword. He keeps Iwaizumi close. Iwaizumi does not speak and keeps his eyes peeled for danger as well.

They do not stop at the gate to acknowledge the guards, nor do they stop at the stables. Oikawa’s sword glimmers in the light even when they run into Iwaizumi’s mother—the old queen—who dismisses them quickly upon sensing the urgency in Oikawa’s posture.

Oikawa breezes past his friends Hanamaki and Matsukawa while Iwaizumi only gives them a curt nod. The same goes for poor Kyoutani, who had been helping a maid carry white cloths to the other rooms enthusiastically.

Oikawa only stops at the door to Iwaizumi’s chambers, sheathing his sword then and waiting to be let in.

Iwaizumi is rigid, but he enters the room and leaves the door ajar for Oikawa to follow.

♔


	2. two

⚔️

There is something about the king, that when he and Oikawa are alone, the façade drops and he becomes Iwaizumi Hajime: a royal in every right, blood as blue as the castle walls, and…

Someone for whom Oikawa’s blood can boil.

They stand apart from each other, and the king watches as his knight sheds his cloak and drapes it across an ornate chair. Oikawa straightens himself as if in court and faces Iwaizumi, who holds himself solid by the dresser at the far end of his room. He looks over him once, seething.

“With all due respect—” Oikawa grinds out, “—my king. That was beyond. Your. Duties.”

Iwaizumi is deceptively calm. “I _beg_ your pardon?”

 _“Outside these walls,”_ comes Oikawa’s voice, rising, “Outside these walls I must make it so you never draw your sword!”

“And what kind of king will I be, if I let harm come to you?” Iwaizumi demands.

“A good king! An alive king!” Oikawa asserts, frantic. “Your duty is not to _me_ , it’s to your subjects, to this _kingdom!—_ ”

“It was one arrow!”

“It could have cost your life!”

“It would have cost _yours!”_

“What does mine _mean?”_ the knight steps angrily, ignoring Iwaizumi’s quivering form; his fist, clenched. Knuckles, white. “What value does a knight’s life hold?!”

The king falters. “Oikawa—”

“Surely you don’t think I find pleasure in publicly assuming your royal post. Surely you don’t think I pretend in _jest_ , because I can say with certainty, Iwa… _Iwaizumi_ , that I detest being called ‘king’ as my liege stands right beside me!”

“Oikawa—”

 _“But if it means my life for yours, so be it._ So be it, because that is what I am supposed to do!” He turns away, hurt. “Do not lay your life for me again, my king.”

Iwaizumi’s hand opens, closes. He brings it, shaking, to Oikawa’s chin. The knight’s face is nothing like the rest of him—seasoned, strained. Calloused where he’d worked himself sore.

There is a reason some seem to think he is king. Brown eyes meet those akin to moss, thick with feeling and heavy like the staff he had been made to wield since birth. A million and one words are passed before they are spoken; at Oikawa’s cheek, the king’s hand hovers.

He sounds wounded: “Have you not served me long enough to know?”

Oikawa’s eyes are searching. Iwaizumi can see the golden flecks swimming there, like the plating in his armor, like the seal Oikawa wears that says he is a knight that serves only the king.

He reaches up to clasp a hand over Iwaizumi’s. It is rough, but soft, and unyielding.

“I know,” he tells his king, “but that does not change things.”

“Tooru—”

“Hajime.” Iwaizumi’s breath hitches in his throat. He longs to rid Oikawa of the crease between his brows. “I beg you, don’t make me say it twice.”

“But an attempt on your life,” the king mumbles, “is an attempt on mine.”

“And an attempt on yours is an affront to this kingdom.” Reality hangs low above their heads. “So many more will lose you, not just I,” Oikawa presses, “but I will have lost the most, and you know this, Hajime. I belong to no other.”

“Because I am your king?”

“No.”

Iwaizumi brings Oikawa’s forehead to his and shuts his eyes. His breathing is unsteady and erratic; his heart pounds against his ribs and past his garments and makes itself known on his sleeve.

He speaks: “I know you will not thank me. I would not have thanked you—”

“Naturally,” Oikawa whispers, “It is my task—”

“Let me finish. I’m glad you are alive.”

 _“I_ am glad that _you_ are.”

Iwaizumi moves away to look his knight in the eye. “You underestimate me?”

“No,” mumbles Oikawa, as he brings his right hand to the king’s cheek. “I worry though. I always do—and this was not the first time anyone has tried pulling a stunt such as today.”

“Indeed, it was not.”

In the distance, the bell tower signals the first hour after noon. The king and his knight move away from each other at the sound of knocking.

“Your highness,” Kyoutani’s muffled voice calls, “Your mother says you’ve missed your meal.”

Iwaizumi directs his voice to the door without so much as moving from Oikawa’s gaze; _I will seek out the one who dares endanger you,_ it is telling him.

“I’ll be down in a moment, Kyoutani,” the king says. Then, to his knight, “You are not doing that without company.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this was a product of the surprisingly positive response to [this tweet](https://twitter.com/seijohblue/status/1310755224336834562?s=20). brainrot as usual, served on a small platter.
> 
> it is my brother who has to suffer through beta-reading these things. i hope you enjoyed!
> 
> his main comment: “i can keep reading.” i can keep writing, if we’re being honest.


End file.
